


Doberman

by PipBoi3000



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, Rockstar AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipBoi3000/pseuds/PipBoi3000
Summary: Michael doesn't need the headache of a late night or the earache of some wailing moron....So why was he still here? Maybe he just had a thing for frontmen.





	Doberman

**Author's Note:**

> Knowing me there is bound to be smut in later chapters. But for now just enjoy show-boat Gavin and Garage-punk Michael.  
> :)

"What the FUCK am I doing here?” Michael asked himself for the umpteenth time that night. The stadium had become more and more crushingly full over the time he posed the question to himself but still he didn’t know that answer. This wasn’t his ‘scene’. The smell of warm liquor and sweat, The friction and anticipation of an eager crowd, the mic checks, the mosh pits…This was GEOFF’S idea of fun, sure…But not his. He had his band already and he didn’t give a shit about this singer that Geoff hand shut up about. Why should he? His band didn’t NEED a singer. Someone wailing away on vocals meant the crowd couldn’t hear his guitar...

“Why you looking so mopey, Eeyore? This is going to be brilliant! I’m telling you, if this isn’t the best night of your life then you’re fucking lying…” Michael forced a smile for the sake of the idiot that had dragged him here and, since he was feeling generous, even nodded slightly.   
“ Jokes aside, this kid is sex on stage”  
“His parents must be so proud” Michael muttered back, bitterly.  
He checked his watch: Christ, they should have started this shit-show over an hour ago. There was theatrically late and then there was just plain rude. The line was being toed. Before he could make a snide comment on the performers tardiness, a wave passed over the crowd, and the lights dipped low, accommodating the glare of those that now flooded the stage. 

The crowd cheered and whooped, stomping feet and clapping hands, Geoff louder than everyone and not caring a jot about all at the stares his way. The band all assembled, the audience cheering them on and then..Then HE came on. They went mad. Michael genuinely feared for his life as the crowd surged forward, screaming manically for the man who had appeared on the stage. Gavin Free… Stupid fucking stage name. Look at him, smirking like the swanny prick he was. What a poser. Flicking his hair from his face, the singer stepped up to the mic, a sloppy half-grin already plastered to his face. He wore eye-makeup, a LOT of it too, more than was any kind of necessary. Statement or something. Not that you could see it all that clearly under the gold heart-shaped glasses.

“Evening all….Look at you (a snigger) What a mess…” The British slur to his words was unexpected but…Not unpleasant. As he spoke, the singer thumbed the edge of his shirt. The crowd started a fresh bout of cheers and he laughed and tugged it over is head, somehow keeping the glasses on. “No need to ask ME twice..” He flicked it to the grabbing hands. What a show-off.

Michael was surprised to see his warm skin peppered in tattoos, not to mention the ring through his left nipple. A rose on his shoulder, the letters ‘Au’ over his heart for some reason and the skull of a crowned bull, dark over his narrow hips, its muzzle disappearing below his belt. A bass line started and Gavin let out that confident snigger again. Then he sang…God did he sing too. Michael hated himself for swallowing back a sudden lump in his throat. He ignored everything, the rush of the crowd, the sounds around him, Geoff’s stare everything but that…That lanky figure on the stage. As he sang, low and growling, Gavin ran his hand though his hair, loping easily around the stage, shaking his hips in those unforgivingly tight leather pants. He laughed as he sang, and the smile was audible in his voice. The song, whatever it was, came to a finish and Michael watched, entranced, as the next one began. His jaw was slack now, God what was keeping his eyes there, hungrily on the frontman..? Geoff had stopped looking at Michael now but couldn’t help muttering “I thought you might like him. Stop dribbling, gaylord.” The guitarist (Fuckin' amateur) began picking out a dark, lusty kind of tune and Gavin took off the glasses, tossing them carelessly the same direction as his shirt. Geoff nearly knocked Michael off his feet with a nudge   
“Oh FUCK! You’ll like this you fucking perve…This is Doberman.”   
What did THAT mean…? Michael found out very quickly. Gavin rolled his head back, hissing out a breath as he ran his hand over his crotch. The words, when they found his way out of his mouth, were moaned and almost choked in their delivery. His makeup, if it wasn’t smudged enough before, was pulled down his face with shaking hands and bucked hard into his hand. Okay, Michael could see why this show was R18. Gavin was basically getting the stage pregnant at this point.

“My bark’s not as good as my bite, bitch!”

At this, Gavin let out a wolfish, wild howl to the crowd, who howled back without reserve. He laughed again, that taunting, boyish sound and sank to his knees. It was only when those green eyes flew open again did Michael realise they were trained, LOCKED onto him. And the hunger behind them was a reflection of his own. 

Gavin was breathing hard at the songs close but, panting and hyped though he was, the applause washed over him and his gaze didn’t move. He chucked his chin; the most minuscule yet undeniable of motions...Then, like he was pulling himself from a trance, he stood back up, all charisma and sex-appeal again. Geoff looked at Michael like he had just sprouted a second head.  
“Dude”  
“What?” Michael hoped Geoff was blind to the scarlet he could feel rising in his face.  
“Free wants you backstage."


End file.
